JourneyLeaf: Life a Page at a Time

Camera Walk

It was a little dark and chilly out.  "Eli, if you'll take a walk with me, I'll let you carry my small camera!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love to see what absorbs his attention and then do my best to capture it... 

 

 

 

 

 

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High Museum of Art

Rainy November Sunday.  Off to Atlanta for an adventure at the High Museum of Art with family...

 

 

 

For me, Rule #1 of visiting an art museum with a kiddo is make sure they are comfy.  We made sure Eli was rested, dressed him in comfy clothes, and topped off his tummy at the snack bar. 

 

Rule #2 -- Choose something to look at that interests them.  We gave Eli a choice of exhibits and he chose the current "Go West!" exhibit.  I don't blame him!  It is full of gorgeous landscapes, horses, cowboys, Native Americans, and images of interesting action from roundups to rodeos.  

 

#3 -- Talk about the art.  When I was an Art Education student in college, much was made of letting kids roam a room to choose an art object that interests them and then engaging them in discussion about it.  Talking about art feels a little weird at first, but it can be as simple as asking about the mood of a person in a sculpture, playing "I Spy" with objects in a drawing, or asking what it would feel like to be a part of a scene in a painting. 

 

Museums are so much more interactive these days!  Eli loved this computer game inside the exhibit that let him create his own landscape sprinkled with Wild West icons.

 

Rule #4 -- Unless they ask for more, let one or two exhibits be enough.  You want to make sure they have a good experience and will want to return, so leave the exhibit space while they are still focused and in a good mood.  Luckily, the High has a great creative place space for kids called the Greene Family Learning Gallery.

 

  

Found objects turned into a magnetic art wall... 

 

We loved these sketching benches.  Clear or opaque white Plexiglas panels fit into the easel slot.  Special crayons allow marks to be cleaned away with baby wipes when kids are done.

 

From the other side of the easel, it was fun to watch Eli studiously drawing... 

 

When Eli went to the other side to watch me, I did a quick sketch before he could move... 

    

 

The kids area had small wooden blocks as well as great big foam blocks... 

 

 

 

Happy sigh!  Creative fun!  

Click HERE for more art museum adventures and scroll down to the bottom for some great books for getting kids interested in art.

In addition to the Greene Center, the High offers Discovery Packs.  These backpacks are for use within the building and hold materials that parents can use to teach kids more about art in general as well as specific High artwork.  The High also offers Toddler Thursdays, Weekend Family Tours, and Self-Guided Family Tours. 

Click HERE for the High Museum of Art's website.

      

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Mom's Pecan Tarts

Spiced Figs Cranberry Sauce

I can't remember any other recipe that is so aesthetically pleasing to make.  This was my very first try at cranberry sauce and it was not only easy, but also lovely -- gorgeous colors, nice smells, and yummy too.  (Don't let the "spiced" throw you.  It is much like regular cranberry sauce but with a little warm spice and citrus.  The aftertaste is a actually bit softer.)

A twelve ounce bag of fresh cranberries has just under four cups and the recipe calls for three.  Knowing we'd have no use for the leftover berries, we added them along with a little extra sugar and water.

  

First, the fresh cranberries got a shower...   

  

I'd never bought dried figs before.  We found sundried Kalamata Crown figs from the Mediterranean and they were packaged in a curious pillow shape.  We chopped them into pieces about the size of a cranberry, removing the stems.  Sticky!  But yummy.  (The 14 ounce package is enough for a double batch of sauce with some figs left over.)

   

And for color appeal, nothing like adding an orange.  The kitchen smelled great while I zested the orange and then Eli juiced it. 

   

   

Into the pot!  Now the allspice smell swirled around the kitchen too.

   

Our recipe said that the berries will pop once the pot heats up.  I assumed the skins would soften and the word "pop" was just a visual cue.  Instead, I think the insides of the cranberries actually swelled and burst their skins.  We could literally hear some of the cranberries pop.  We were charmed.

   

Eli and I nibbled a fresh cranberry to see what it would taste like.  The color and flavor is pretty much all in the skin.  (In my side of the cranberry we chopped in half, there were tiny seeds in the four inner chambers.)

   

Simmering...

 

Simmering...

 

Soon we had a fragrant pot of sauce as bright as a ruby.  Gorgeous!

 

Ta dah!  Our homemade cranberry sauce!

  

Spiced Figs Cranberry Sauce

¾ cup sugar
½ teaspoon allspice
1 cup water
3 cups fresh (or frozen) cranberries
1 cup dried figs, roughly chopped
1 orange, zested and juiced

In a large saucepan, combine sugar, allspice, and water over medium heat.  Stir and simmer until the sugar is dissolved.  To the pot, add the cranberries and figs.  Increase the heat and bring to a boil.  Cook uncovered for 5 minutes, until the cranberries begin to pop.  Reduce heat and cook for 20 minutes longer, until thickened.  Stir in the orange zest and juice.  Set aside until ready to use.  Yields 4 cups.

Recipe by The Jewels of New York.  This is a creative cooking group.  To read more about them and their project, visit their website at www.thejewelsofny.com.  Their recipe was featured last year in the magazine Kinfolk:  A Guide for Small Gatherings (WeldonOwen Publications), Volume 6 (Autumn 2012).  Pg. 30.

For more information about Kinfolk, click HERE.

  

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ONE AND ALL! 

   

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A Hundred Gallons of Invisible Party Hats

   

  
  
My paternal grandmother was fantastic -- warm and full of life.  She was an excellent storyteller, but focused more on the details than the plot.  Thanks to her, my family history always felt alive and real.  Each long-gone aunt, uncle, or cousin was a distinct person to me.

She was a second grade teacher.  I wish I had a dime for every person in their community who has said to me, "Oh, your grandma was my teacher and I just loved her!"  More than one now-all-grown gent has confided, "I had such a crush on her!"

     

Grandma also was a goofball, for which I am eternally grateful.  Here is her "mean ol' grammaw" face.  She'd threaten to whack my brother and I with her cane, which never ceased to amuse.

   

Here is a picture from when I was a toddler.  Apparently we were pretending to be princesses.  My crown was a mixing bowl and hers was some tin foil.

   

With great affection, Grandma used to say to me, “You’re a good girl!  I wouldn’t trade you for a party hat!”  I took that saying for granted when I was very young but soon realized how funny and ridiculous it was.  Grandma laughed and said it was something her mother used to say to her.  Of course I say it to Eli now.  Out of the blue one morning this week he suddenly exclaimed, “Mama, I wouldn’t trade you for a hundred gallons of invisible party hats!”

When my grandmother was in her 30s, they discovered she had a benign brain tumor the size of an orange.  Amazingly, she survived it.  During all the years of recovery, she was on many medications.  Because there were no pharmacy computers keeping track of everything in those days, she once had an overdose that came very close to killing her.  Before I was born, she had a close call with breast cancer.  Three times over, the odds were that I shouldn't have even met my grandmother, yet she died peacefully in her sleep as an old woman.  I wouldn't be who I am without her.  I wouldn't trade my memories of this lady for a million dollar party hat factory!

I have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving!  

  

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Mom's Pecan Tarts

Like many couples, Brian and I have more than one gathering for most holidays so we can celebrate with both sides of our family.  Thus tonight I was in the kitchen getting ready for a Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.

If I'm honest about the Thanksgiving dinners I had as a child, the good company and peaceful setting of my grandparents' little hometown in rural Arkansas outstripped the food.  All the traditional holiday fare was yummy, but there weren’t any extraordinary dishes there except for one -- Mom's homemade Chess Tarts.  These were muffin-tin-sized personal pecan pies.  The made-from-scratch crust was flaky.  For a day or two after they were made, the inside oozed a buttery brown sugar mixture when you took a bite.  After a longer time – if they somehow lasted that long – the inside partially crystallized into vanilla-rich candy.  You were good either way.

I didn’t try making my own Tarts until 2003.  I remembered Mom’s Thanksgiving specialty were quite labor-intensive and I knew pie crust is one of those deceptively simple things that actually takes some kitchen mastery, so I had to screw up my courage before attempting them.  That first batch?  I would give that first attempt a B+ -- not quite there but a good effort.  I’ve made them many times since, but somehow have never improved.  I get no complaints and the tarts disappear quickly.  They are tasty.  Yet deep down I know they are not right.  Perhaps I’m wishing too hard for that happily familiar bite from childhood.

This year is the first Thanksgiving in our new home.  I’m living in my hometown again at last and we’ve put down roots.  This year feels different.  Tonight as I got ready to bake the Chess Tarts, I decided to enjoy the process and not worry about the finished product.  I sifted flour while Brian read library books to Eli.  I blended the shortening while following tales of baseballs, magic crayons, dragons, and kangaroos.  As I divided dough into twenty-four equal balls and then pressed each one evenly into muffin tins, I listened to 1940s Swing music in the foreground and Eli singing in the bathtub in the background.  Each ball of dough takes about a minute to spread properly in its tin.  Multiply that times two muffin pans and it is a lot of time working quietly with buttery fingers.  I thought about Mom, wondered what she thought about as she did this task in even larger scale each year.

   

 “Ma-maaaaaaa!  Don’t forget to let me help!” Eli hollered periodically, an echo from the bathtub.  Soon Little Guy, damp-haired and smelling faintly like flowers, helped stir the pecans into the sugar-gritty filling.  He wore blanket sleeper pajamas decorated with monkeys and bananas.  If my Mom looked down from Heaven, surely the sight of the little grandson standing tip-toe to peer into the mixing bowl would coax out her kitchen blessings.  (If this kiddo’s bright, eager eyes didn’t melt her, the goofy monkey faces on the built-in pajama feet would surely do the trick!)  Sliding the first two pans in the oven gave a break for prayers and lullabies.  I snuggled with Monkey Pajama Boy in his darkened bedroom, the smell of toasted flour and vanilla in the air.  I called a dear friend for a quick catch-up while starting in on batch number two.  And my husband cheerfully kept me company. 

   

 

When the first pan finally came from the oven, it looked just right.  It smelled just right.  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and took a bite.  Yes.  At last.  Just right. 

All those years I’d been missing an essential ingredient – home roots.

   

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Even the lazy neighbors put away their ghosts and bats by now.  The pumpkins are quietly moldering, gravity pulling them towards blackened fruit fly puree.  Other holidays are on the way.

   

Looking ahead towards Thanksgiving, I worked with some family recipes today.  Soon it was time to pick Eli up from school and I was rumbling up the road when a squat shape in the passenger seat floorboard caught my eye.  I felt a little inner jolt when I recognized eight thick, hairy legs.  Not only was there a spider in my car, but he was huge.  All I could think about was the lady in the news a few days back who found poisonous tropical spiders hatching out of her grocery store bananas.  I bought bananas a few days ago!

Now, I do know spiders are good for the planet.  When I find them in my house, I take a deep breath and escort them safely out if I can.  But if truth be told, any spider over the size of a dime sends an involuntary shiver up my spine.  Larger than a quarter and my inner child wants to do a squealy dance complete with hand-flapping.  Can't stand 'em.

I calmly kept my eyes on the road, glancing over to make sure the mungy creature wasn't marching my way.  He wasn't.  He was completely still.  I muttered a prayer of thanks while I scanned ahead for a place to safely pull over.  I found a quiet neighborhood and turned in, giving the spider another glance.  As the shadows changed, I realized he looked a little... well... purple?

I found a spare magazine to roll up into a tight critter-whacking baton, put on my emergency blinkers, walked around the car, and opened the door.  There in the floorboard was a rubber spider leftover from Eli's Halloween treat bag.  I can only imagine what folks driving by must have thought of the woman leaning against her car and laughing like an idiot.

Happy Friday and Happy Mid-November!

 

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St. Marys Submarine Museum

Just yesterday we were putting up with humidity and clouds of biting sand gnats.  Hours later, we woke up to a world where the chilly wind whistled down our coat collars.  Today we had a wealth of beaches, historic forts or plantations, lighthouse tours, piers, and hiking trails for our choosing.  Sigh.  None seemed very attractive on the first truly cold day of the season.  Then I found a blurb on the web about the St. Marys Submarine Museum.  Why not?

  

They had the expected glass cases full of submarine models, medals, construction plans, and the like.  But they had other tidbits too...

 

Here's a Styrofoam cup that a submarine crew sent down into the crushing depths of the ocean.  When it reached the surface again, it was wrinkled and about half its original size.  It looked like a deflated shot glass.

 

After we first arrived, I feared that the museum wouldn't have much appeal for a preschooler.  But then Eli discovered a control panel where he could sit down and pretend to command a sub.  Captain Eli pushed buttons and peered at gauges for quite a while.  

 

And then -- oh, bliss -- he discovered that the museum has a real working periscope that pops out of the top of its two-story building.  It was a quiet day at the museum, so Eli could endlessly search the streets and waterway outside for all signs of life.  Eli also loved their 45-minute kids' documentary called The Big Submarine (Little Mammoth Media's Big Adventure series).  We learned a lot from the film and it may turn up in Eli's Christmas stocking.

Click HERE for web information on the museum.

 

After the museum, we strolled the streets of St. Mary's historic district.  The Cumberland Island National Seashore Museum is also located there, but it was closed today.  We still enjoyed popping into the various shops and strolling along the waterway.

 

 

 

We left St. Marys and got back to Interstate 95.  We planned to stop for a snack, and I suddenly got a crazy idea to get a little something to eat in Florida.  It is a state Eli had never been to before, the border was just a few miles away, and the Visitor's Center gives away free orange juice.  Mmmm.

 

 

The Visitor's Center has a little photo booth where they superimpose an image of an alligator in the foreground of your picture.  The catch is that the photo must be emailed to you -- and thus they have your email address for spamming you with Florida vacation information.  But I have a junk email box just for such purposes anyway...

   

So we ended up having a lovely day despite the chill.  In addition to the adventures outlined above, we had a nice lunch (including treats from a cupcake bakery) in Brunswick's historic district.  We found a few antique stores.  In the late afternoon we braved the beach for a few minutes, marveling at the rough waves.  (Eli looked at the pounding surf for a moment and said, "If any sand gnats come out tonight, I bet they get blown away by the wind and smack into a tree.")

 

But as the sun began to set, the wind settled a little and the foam along the water took on a soft glow.

  

 

It wasn't the coastal vacation day I planned, but it sure was fun anyway.

   

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There's nothing quite like the colors of the Georgia coast near sunset.

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

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Brian and I usually work together to make beds after laundry time.  We loudly announce when it is time to put the clean bedding back on, noting in exaggerated stage voices how nice it is to be able to do this task without anyone around to bother us.  This is Eli's cue to zip into the bedroom, giggling like a banshee.  

Brian and I have the bottom sheet by the corners, so Little Guy climbs in.  We swing Eli gently hammock-style, commenting to each other how puzzlingly heavy the bedding has suddenly become.  We hoist the sheet up onto the mattress, rolling it over a few times for good measure.  There is some exploratory poking and squeezing on our part, allowing us to come to the discovery that there is a small boy in the sheets!  "That's why it was so heavy!" we marvel to each other.  And, strangely enough, it happens all over again with the top sheet.

This week Eli helped fluff out the king-sized pillow cases too...

 

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